


Long Gone Heart

by Shadow_Ember



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Ember/pseuds/Shadow_Ember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though the people of Middle Earth may believe the Elvenking of Mirkwood possesses no heart, the opposite could not be more true. Even the coldest of beings still feel emotion, and Thranduil is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Gone Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I have never read the Hobbit, and have only seen the movies, so I apologize if there is anything that conflicts with canon.  
> Elvish:  
> ada= father  
> dú fuin= roughly translates to night of gloom/darkness
> 
> I do not own any of the Hobbit, all rights go to J.R.R. Tolkien.

     Bilbo had always been fascinated by elves. Since the first ones he had met in Rivendell, they had captivated him. He supposed this came about because he had no idea what to expect. Hobbits, as a rule, were not very adventurous and very few travelers passed through the Shire. Sure, he had read books that mentioned elves and dwarves and their vast kingdoms, but the information did little to help him. Within a fortnight of his journey, Bilbo’s world had been vastly expanded.

     The dwarves were quite unique themselves. They were loud and rambunctious, and this came as quite a culture shock to the hobbit. Bilbo was often astounded by his brotherly companions, but did his best to take their behavior in stride. In fact, the ordinary hobbit grew very fond of their friendly yet prideful nature, even though he suspected the party did not care much for him.

     Elven culture came as a surprise to the hobbit. From his first site of Rivendell, and its magnificent architecture and flowing waterfalls, Bilbo was awed. After spending so much time just wandering through the wilderness, taking shelter in caves and rocky outcrops, the white halls of elven make appeared almost sacred to the small hobbit.

     The elves of Rivendell proved to be quite a contrast to his Company. They were tall and lithe, and easily towered over Bilbo and the dwarves. He marveled at how beings with long limbs like theirs could move with such grace. Bilbo likened them to horses, powerful beings that possessed a fluid, unmatchable beauty, and if he were perfectly honest, scared him a little bit.

     The elven folk treated them kindly and respectfully, despite the slight hostility his Company regarded them with. Bilbo, however, appreciated the familiar hospitality. He supposed it was one quality hobbits and elves might share.

     For the life of him, Bilbo could not understand why his dwarven companions resented the elves. They had only ever treated them with kindness, and the hobbit knew there was some piece of the puzzle missing that explained the dwarves’ odd behavior. He finally discovered it, when their small Company began approaching Mirkwood.

     Thorin had clearly expressed his hatred of Thranduil, the Elvenking, as they entered the dark forest. “The elf left my people to die at the hands of the dragon,” The dwarf prince had snarled, “He watched them burn, and turned his back on us. I will never forgive him for that day.”

     Bilbo, who had never thought the pure elves could be capable of such an act, was appalled by the story. “But how could he? How could he ignore the consequences of his actions? Of the lives lost?”

     The dwarf’s face twisted into a grim expression, “What you don’t understand, Master Burglar, is that the Elvenking has no heart. He is as wretched and unfeeling as stone.”

     Bilbo had been skeptical of this. How could someone hold not an ounce of compassion? But when he finally saw the king, Bilbo could not ignore what Thorin had said. When he first spied the Elvenking from his place within the shadows, he could not escape the ruler’s cold gaze, even though the other never laid eyes on the hobbit. His eyes were cold and merciless as they roamed over the dwarves in his presence. The Elvenking stood straight, and his chin was lifted just enough to give off an air of superiority.

     His voice matched his eyes, cold and hard. When the ruler refused to allow the dwarves passage through his kingdom, and ordered them to be contained in the dungeon, Bilbo recognized a glimmer of stubborn pride in the elf. Now, he had grown used to pride, for the dwarves possessed it in abundance, but he could see how it ate at the Elvenking’s soul. The pride made the elf stubborn in his opposition against Thorin. The dwarf prince responded just the same, and what resulted was a rivalry clear to everyone present that neither would back down on.

     As much as Bilbo wished not to believe Thorin’s statement on the Elvenking, he could not help but see the grain of truth in it. And when he freed his companions later that night, Bilbo agreed with their frustration towards the king.

     Surprisingly, Bilbo found himself grateful to leave Mirkwood and continue with their journey. This was quite the opposite from Rivendell, where he had almost been tempted to stay behind. However, as soon as they had dragged their soaking bodies onto the shore after Bilbo’s impromptu escape plan, he found himself looking forward to the next leg of their journey. They were ever closer to the Lonely Mountain, and away from the dark forest ruled by a king whose heart was long gone.

* * *

 

     As soon as Thranduil had been informed of the dwarves’ presence in Mirkwood, he could not help but groan in frustration. Their timing could not be worse. Not only did he have to deal with the darkness spreading in his kingdom and the rising threat of the spiders, but it was also the fateful day of the dú fuin. The last thing Thranduil needed was a bunch of dwarves marching into his kingdom, disturbing the peace. And not just any dwarves, but a group led by none other than Thorin Oakenshield.

     Because of the circumstances and his dislike for the dwarf, Thranduil wanted to deal with his intruders quickly. As soon as the dwarf prince had refused to tell him the purpose of their journey, Thranduil sent them to be locked in the dungeon. After all, he had no time to deal with impudent dwarves, at least, not tonight.

     Thranduil met with Tauriel briefly. As Captain of the Elven Guard, he placed the task of eliminating the spiders from Mirkwood with her. While she was in his presence, Thranduil took the opportunity to broach the topic of Legolas with her. He had noticed his son had taken a liking to the she-elf, which was simply something that he could no longer permit. He was worried for his son’s welfare, and if he did not show his hand, Legolas could easily make a decision that could bring harm upon himself.

     Tauriel had taken his words well, if not without some apprehension. Indeed, it was a daunting topic to talk about one’s interactions with any king’s son. When Thranduil finished his subtle warning, he ordered the she-elf to bring him some wine. He offered no explanation, but Tauriel was quite wise. Knowing of the significance the day held for the Elvenking, she did so without a word.

     When she had returned with the fine drink, he dismissed her. Thranduil ordered his personal guards to keep watch and not let anyone into his quarters. Once alone in his opulent room, he drew a deep breath, and sat gingerly on one of the plush, high backed chairs in the room. He eyed the wine contained innocuously in a simple wineskin.

     The _dú fuin_ was a sacred tradition to Thranduil, one that he dreaded each year. With a shaky breath, the Elvenking poured the rich wine into one of his prized silver goblets. With a pang, he tried to forget the memories attached to the ornately decorated cup. It was a special kind, first christened on the happiest day of his life, at one of the most sacred events in elven culture: the celebration of marriage.

     Through the large windows in his quarters, Thranduil watched as the sun descended over his kingdom. The night was close behind, a dark indigo that chased the vibrant colors of the sunset away, swallowing them in its darkness. As the stars began to glow in the night sky, shining brightly through the darkness, Thranduil, who so loved their light, found them incredibly dim. He thought it ironic that they shone the least on this night.

     Thranduil clenched his hands in apprehension, but nevertheless, brought the goblet to his lips. He sipped lightly at first, for even though it would be difficult to reach such a state, he did not wish to become victim to the effects of drunkenness. Instead, something else threatened to overwhelm him, a part of him he had tried to push down for centuries. The sorrows of that fateful day rose within him, and Thranduil found he was drowning. He always hated this, but it was necessary for him to proceed on this night. If he did not do this, as he did every year, he might fall under the sadness that plagued his heart. The waves grew stronger. With a sob, Thranduil could not fight back any longer, and he became lost under their strength.

* * *

 

 

     Legolas quickly ran to his father’s quarters. He left Tauriel behind in the throne room to watch the orc and make sure it did not escape. He knew that his father would be furious. Not only had there been an orc attack, but the dwarves had escaped the dungeons. That alone should be impossible, and Thranduil’s rage was going to be inevitable.

     When he reached his father’s room, Legolas informed the guards, “I must speak to my father. It is urgent.”

     Instead of the expected compliance, the guards refused to move. “His Majesty does not wish to see anyone. You may inform him in the morning,” one guard offered.

     Legolas was taken aback. Why would Thranduil refuse to see anyone at this time? While normally he would respect his father’s wish for privacy, the matter at hand was more important. “There is no time to wait. Thranduil must know of this matter immediately,” Legolas commanded.

     Still the guards refused to move, and the elf prince was out of patience. “You would refuse the demands of your prince?” he threatened.

     The guards flinched and looked at each other warily. Legolas continued, “If you do not allow me entrance to my father’s room, I will personally see that you are removed from your positions.” The guards looked warily at each other. Successfully cowed by the threat, they stepped away to allow the prince entrance to the room. Without another glance at the guards, Legolas entered his father’s quarters. “Ada?” he called gently, “There are important matters that must be…” Legolas trailed off when he saw his father.

     Thranduil was hunched over the armrest of his chair, his hands barely clinging to a goblet. Wine had spilled out the sides, blood red droplets staining the pristine floor. The Elvenking’s form was shaking, and Legolas’s heart clenched at the sound of pained sobs.

     “Ada!” he cried, and ran to his father’s side. He removed the goblet precariously clasped by the other, and laid a hand on his shoulder, to shake gently. When he received no response but harder sobs, his pleas grew desperate.

     After a few agonizing moments, the Elvenking finally responded, looking wearily up to see Legolas kneeling before him, but his eyes remained distant. The prince’s face was soft with concern, and he gently guided his father by the shoulders until he was seated upright. The older elf’s gaze focused with the motion, and seemed to finally realize that his son was there. His reaction in this moment of distress was immediate.

     “Legolas, you should not be here!” Thranduil tried to sound angry, but his voice wobbled too much to convince the young prince. He tried to push Legolas out of the way, so that he may assume a standing position and regain his composure, but his son’s strength proved too much for him in his weakened state. The younger’s hands held him gently, staying the trembling that had ensued from his sudden movement.

     Legolas took the chance to observe his father, and in doing so, only grew more worried. The Elvenking looked desolate, eyes drowning in sadness and tears staining his pale face. His breathing was ragged, almost to the point of hyperventilation. The wine that he had been nursing earlier had even spilled onto his delicate garments. And if he looked close enough, he could see the glamour flickering on his father’s face, revealing the burns he had gained from dragon fire all those years ago. He found this detail shocking; the only way the glamour could be failing was if his father was too weak or distracted to support the simple magic. Legolas could not fathom what had caused him to enter such a state.

     “Father,” Legolas whispered, “What is wrong? What troubles you so?” Thranduil, for once, found himself unable to look his son in the eye.

     Legolas gently placed his hand on his father’s cheek, “Please, what is it?”

     The Elvenking drew a shaky breath as wet tears continued to slide down his face. Legolas’s heart splintered further at the sight. Not once had he seen his father cry. His father, his strong proud father, had never appeared so vulnerable. The young prince wondered what could have affected his father so much, and he hoped desperately that he could help.

     “Ada…” he implored, and his voice had taken on a shakiness of its own.

     Thranduil finally looked into his son’s eyes. He melted at the concern pooled in their blue depths. The Elvenking could barely hold back a fresh wave of tears at how similar he looked to his mother in this moment. She would have the same soothing expression when Thranduil was angry or sad. Her eyes would never leave his face during these times, and she had the uncanny ability to make anyone feel as if they were the most important being in the world.

     Thranduil painfully swallowed at the thought of her, for how the memories of her haunted him, and still his voice shook when he whispered, “I miss her so much, Legolas.”

     His son’s face softened, and slid his hand into Thranduil’s, where he rubbed soothing circles into the back of his hand. The Elvenking relaxed with his son’s sympathetic gesture, and felt his tears gradually slow. Encouraged, he continued, “Your mother was so beautiful. I wish you could have known her.”

     Legolas remained silent. He kept all his attention focused on Thranduil, his earlier task completely forgotten. A soft hand wiped the remnants of the Elvenking’s tears away.

     Thranduil’s lips quirked upward as he gazed at his son. His wife used to wipe Legolas’s tears away when he was just a baby, “You are so much like her.” After a pause he added, “She always questioned me too.”

     Legolas smiled despite himself. He did possess quite a rebellious nature. Thranduil gently ran a hand through his son’s hair. His smile wider now, he said, “Although, she was better at calming my temper, which you incite more often than not.”

     Legolas agreed silently. Almost no one could calm the Elvenking when he was in a rage. Suddenly, and to Legolas’s surprise, Thranduil pulled him into a hug. He responded after a moment of shock, gently holding his father. When the Elvenking did draw back, he whispered, “Thank you, Legolas, my little leaf.” Upon seeing the pride in his father’s soft gaze, the young prince felt like the most important being in Middle Earth.

     After a short period of silence, Thranduil cleared his throat lightly, “So, my son, what urgent news brought you here?”

     Legolas’s happiness fell flat in an instant. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to his father what had transpired earlier. After all, his father had already been through enough emotional turmoil for the night. He fidgeted nervously.

     “It must have been of great importance if it allowed you to bypass my guards.”

     Seeing that there was no way he could avoid it, Legolas hesitantly said, “There is an orc in the throne room that needs to be interrogated.”

     Thranduil frowned, “Interrogated? Just kill the creature.”

     “Well, the only reason we captured it was to gain information, for you see, the orcs did not attack any elves.”

     Thranduil’s gaze turned heavy, and one could never guess at the state the man had been in minutes ago, “You are avoiding telling me something.”

     With a sigh, the younger gave up, “The dwarves escaped.”

     Thranduil’s response was immediate, “What? That is not possible!”

     The prince shrunk at his father’s anger, “We have no idea of how they escaped their cells. I am sorry; we will improve the dungeon security.”

     Thranduil’s fury, as fast as it appeared, had faded to a cold flare, “I will be in the throne room momentarily.”

     “Yes, father,” and Legolas slipped out of the room to make his way back to Tauriel and the orc. He could not help but be dismayed at his father’s change of emotions. For a moment, Legolas thought his old father was back. The one that would hold him close and sing lullabies to him when he was a child.

* * *

 

 

     “You never speak of her,” Legolas stated. Thranduil could only watch his battle weary son, who refused to look at him.

     “After your mother died, I locked away my emotions to dull the pain. I never consciously brought them to the surface. Except-“

     “Except that one night,” Legolas interrupted, “when the dwarves escaped.” There was a hard edge to his voice that the Elvenking was loath to hear. The young prince turned to face him, “I thought after that night that you would be different. That you could love again.”

     Thranduil avoided his son’s gaze. He was right. “For thousands of years, I shut out emotion, to be able to cope with the loss of your mother. It is hard to change one’s habits. But I see now, that I hurt you, my son. I could not give you what you needed as you grew up. For that I am sorry.”

     Legolas remained quiet, and turned away from the Elvenking. He could not look him in the eyes for what he had to say, “I can not go back.”

     Thranduil’s head tipped up in surprise, “Where will you go?”

     “I do not know.”

     Thranduil stood still. Desperately, he tried to fight stubborn emotions back down. Ever since the dú fuin, he had been easily susceptible to the foreign sensations. Now, his son, his beloved Legolas, was leaving him.

     Thranduil supposed this was predestined. For too long now Legolas had been growing away from him. The bond between parent and child was lost and became something that resembled a king and his subject. As much as it pained him, and oh, how he hated feeling, he could not stop his determined son.

     “Go to the North. There is a member of the Dunedain you should meet and stay with. His father was a good man; I have hope he will be a great one.”

     Legolas looked back in surprise, “What is his name?”

     “He is known as Strider. His true name you must discover for yourself.” Legolas dipped his head respectively. Thranduil did the same, and watched as the young prince left. No doubt, he was headed to Dale, and after that, the world unknown. Thranduil’s heart ached, though the Elvenking was quick to dismiss it.

     He walked down the stone corridor in isolation. The elf was only deterred by the cries of Tauriel. The she-elf was sprawled over the dead body of one of Thorin’s nephews; the young one named Kili. Tauriel mourned deeply. Her hands gripped the dwarf’s tunic in anguish, but grew gentle when she cupped his face. She barely glanced up when Thranduil approached.

     “If this is love, I don’t want it,” her voice was wracked with pain, the kind that lacks a physical effect but hurts the same. She turned her tear stricken face to look at Thranduil, who could not help but feel her sorrow.

     The Elvenking knew what this was like. He had been in the same situation once, holding his beloved wife close as he prayed she would come back to him. He knew how this disease felt, how it clawed at your insides until it escaped, so that your grieving could be heard by the stars. It was a painful way to honor the dead.

     Tauriel’s eyes struck Thranduil to the core, as if blaming him. The elf was reminded of his harsh words in an encounter but hours ago when he had chastised her for her love of the dwarf. Seeing the devotion the elf held for the other, he could not help but be reminded of himself. In order to calm his own emotions, he had rebuked her with false words. “Take it away, please!” she pleaded, “Why does it hurt so much?”

     The ocean of emotions in Thranduil churned violently. His face softened as he spoke to the desolate elf, for he needed to convince her of the truth. “Because it was real.”

     Tauriel only sobbed harder, but the look in her eyes conveyed a quiet, bittersweet thank you. Thranduil stepped quietly away, leaving the she-elf to mourn. The Elevenking walked slowly, confused by the change within himself. Though the people of Middle Earth may think Thranduil possessed no heart, the opposite could not be more true. The Elvenking had merely experienced too much hardship, and apathy became his coping mechanism. Not since his wife was alive and Legolas was a small child did he have compassion for anyone else. But even the coldest of beings still feel, and Thranduil was no exception.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading my work!


End file.
